Meet Me In This Broken Place
by Bundibird
Summary: Arthurian Legend spoilers. It's centuries since Camelot fell to dust, and now Merlin waits, lying in the grass where her castle stood tall and proud so many years ago. Once has past and the Future is now, and it's time for Arthur to rise again. Oneshot. No slash. No Season 5 spoilers.


**AN****: This rather angsty, and a lot friendshippy. And there's a serious hugfest. And there's no slash. **

**Disclaimer****: I do not own Merlin. Also, the title is from the Ashes Remain's song, 'Without You,' which is the song that inspired this fic. Ashes Remain's music is **_**wonderful**_**, and I can hear Arthur and Merlin in more than one of their songs.**

**Summary****: Arthurian Legend spoilers. It's centuries since Camelot fell to dust, and now Merlin waits, lying in the grass where her castle stood tall and proud so many years ago. Once has past and the Future is now, and it's time for Arthur to rise again. Oneshot. No slash.**

**SPOILERS****: None for Season 5 (so far, at least), but a fair few for the Legends, plus some speculation. **

**Note****: There's a bit of debate over **_**when**_** exactly King Arthur lived – opinions range from 530AD to 650AD. I'm going with the 530ish era. **

…

**Meet Me In This Broken Place**

…

It's centuries since Camelot fell to dust, her people scattered to the wind and her lands divided up by squabbling lords and petty kings – renamed and redivided over and over again until no one remembers what it was once called. Years have passed since then – years, and the lives of so, so many people.

The November sky is dark overhead – cloudy and angry looking, threatening rain. The grass under Merlin's body is damp as he gazes at the sky, the long blades tickling his cheeks and his wrists and any other bit of exposed skin they can find.

The grass is lush and green – well tended, though purposefully left just a little bit long. It didn't feel right, Merlin felt, to have perfectly trimmed and never out of place lawns covering the ground where the greatest castle in the world once stood. Camelot was – for all her civility and sophistication – still a little bit wild. Her people had fires in their rooms and they hunted in the forests and they relied on plants and seeds to tend to their ills. Her gardens were more like beautiful, partially tamed patches of forest than the neat, ordered gardens of today, her orchards were dappled wilds of tangled branches, and her grass was always a little bit long. Her people got drunk on mead and they had banquets in the great hall and ate with their fingers and rode horses and fought with swords and arrows and _magic_ and they had beards and scruffy hair and clothes that were dirty more often than not and baths were something only the privileged had access to and even then they were rare, and despite destiny and duty and all that that entailed life was wild and free and _beautiful,_ and so it just doesn't make sense to Merlin to keep the grass orderly when everything that was once here was so not.

So he's kept the grass long. Made sure the groundskeeper is fully aware of his wants, even though the old man looked at him oddly (because who _wants_ their garden or lawn to look wild?), but Merlin's long-used to being looked at like he's odd and the expressions don't bother him in the slightest, and the groundskeeper leaves his lawnmower in the shed.

The land is Merlin's, legally (though in his mind it will always belong to Arthur). This huge expanse of grass-covered hills and light woods that was once Camelot's castle and citadel and surrounding forests. He bought the land generations ago – when long stretches of untouched land began being cleaned up and turned into pastures or fields or plots for houses.

It wasn't hard to raise the money. Money's not much of an issue when you can conjure it out of thin air. It's not much of an issue when you've had over a thousand years to save it all up, either.

He bought the land to save it. It's bad enough that the rest of Camelot's beautiful and wild lands have been slowly chipped to pieces and lost; Merlin couldn't have borne it if the very heart of his King's once great city was turned into a parking lot or a housing development or a sprawling mass of skyscrapers.

He was Adem Smyth when he purchased it, so many years ago. Since then he's passed it down to himself countless times through names such as Branton Miller and Colton Baker and Devon Drake and too many other names to remember. Merlin's had a lot of names over the years.

He won't need to come up with any new names again though.

Not now, when the time is so near.

There's a gust of wind and Merlin inhales deeply, a smile blooming on his face. The magic is so strong in the air now he can smell it, and it only gets stronger with every passing minute.

It won't be long now.

He sensed the gathering magic a week ago, and instinct led him here. For a fleeting moment he'd wondered if he should be heading to the lake of Avalon, but he knows Arthur won't return to this world from the same place he left it. Time rolls on and the landscape changes with it, and it's been a long time since the Lake of Avalon was accessible to mortal men. Decades and centuries pass and mountains turn into flat plains, creeks become rivers which gouge deep ravines in the earth, wind wears great castles down to nothing, and lakes sink under the surface of the ground to become underground reservoirs.

This _England_ looks a lot different to the Albion that Merlin still remembers.

There's a University where the Lake once was, and Merlin knows for a fact that no one who walks those fancy halls or sits on those manicured lawns is aware that under their feet lies the Lake that bore King Arthur from this world.

In any case – the pull of magic is what alerted Merlin to what was going on, and the pull of magic led him here, to this open, grassy field that doesn't even have a stone left of Camelot's great white castle.

Really, he's not at all surprised that Camelot is the place through which Arthur will re-enter the world. Camelot was the best and worst of Arthur. It's where he was born, where he grew up. It's where he lived, loved, loathed, where he ruled, and where he learnt to rule. Arthur lived for Camelot, and in the end he died for her.

Avalon meant little, if anything, to Arthur.

Camelot, on the other hand, meant everything.

There's another gust of magic-laden wind and Merlin sinks deeper into the grass, his eyes closed now.

Over a thousands years old and he hasn't aged a day since he settled Arthur into a boat on the Lake's shoreline, but that doesn't mean he doesn't get tired.

Thousands of years is a long time to be without your other half. A long time to be alone.

Oh, certainly, he had Gwaine and Percival and the other knights in those first years. But mortal men don't live all that long in the scheme of things – not when you're destined to live for hundreds of generations. Merlin's kept track of a lot of the knight's descendants. Mostly, they remain in England, but some are scattered across other countries and continents. Sometimes he wishes he could see them all again, just to see the looks on their faces when he tells them how many descendants they all ended up with. Percival always did want a big family.

Merlin's never had any children, himself. It never sat well with him – the thought that he might have a son just to watch him grow old and die while Merlin remained, untouched by time's passing until the day all the prophesies came true and the Once and Future King returned to lead his kingdom in its greatest hour of need.

And actually, that… if Merlin lets himself think about that last part of the prophecy, he gets slightly concerned. Because between then and now England has had more than one significant hour of need (a pair of wars come to mind immediately, as well as other, arguably lesser occasions), but none of those were dire enough to draw Arthur from his long stay in Avalon.

It makes Merlin concerned about what's coming.

And it has crossed his mind more than once that maybe this is all a hoax. One big cosmic joke that Fate and Destiny decided to play on him that Arthur's never coming back and Merlin's doomed to wander the earth alone for eternity, waiting for a day that will never come – but he always forces those thoughts away.

If he doesn't have hope, what does he have?

And now – finally, _finally – _the agonising years of waiting are at an end, and Merlin feels like he's home for the first time in a long time as he lies half-hidden in the long grass where Camelot once stood and waits for Arthur.

The clouds roll by overhead and the day slowly trundles on and the magic gets stronger with every second, and Merlin waits.

After a thousand-and-a-half-odd years, he's gotten really rather good at waiting.

And then…...

Exactly what the change is, Merlin's not entirely sure, but suddenly something _shifts_, and Merlin's eyes snap open and he's on his knees before he even realises he's moving, eyes casting about for the source of the shift, and not even a few metres away from where he's been lying the ground starts to roll.

Merlin's breath catches in his chest and he couldn't breathe if he wanted to, because fifteen hundred years is a _long _time and finally it's _over_ and he doesn't even think his heart is beating and it's all so overwhelming he doesn't know what to do with himself as the magic stampedes through the air and the ground keeps on rolling.

The ground rolls and tumbles in and around itself, and suddenly it's like he's watching a documentary that's showing the sped-up process of a plant growing as a tangle of ferns and grasses rise up out of the ground, growing up and overlapping and becoming thicker with every passing second until – after a mere fifteen seconds after it started – there's a deep, tangled thicket of ferns.

Nothing happens for half a second and Merlin's heart is about to burst from the anticipation of it all and he just starts to wonder tentatively if he should reach out to the thicket when suddenly the leaves all start moving again, bending out and away from the centre layer by layer until finally…

Merlin gasps a strange sound that's half joyful laugh and half sob as the last layer of ferns pulls back and Arthur is revealed, lying still and peaceful with his arms draped comfortably over his stomach as his chest slowly rises and falls in time with his breathing, and Merlin's too full of so many emotions to have room for embarrassment as his eyes fill with tears that don't fall yet.

Albion's King is dressed in the clothes he went to Avalon in – Camelot-red cloak, silver armour, gold-hilted Excalibur – but it's completely free of all the blood and grime that coated it last time Merlin saw it, and the jagged hole that was torn in the armour and that was the reason Arthur had to go to Avalon in the first place is gone, as though it were never there.

Merlin's frozen in place, breath still caught in his chest as he just _stares _in wonder and joy at this man he has missed _so much_ for _so long_, and he doesn't want to move just in case this is a dream and he wakes up.

And then Arthur stirs, shifts, blinks.

The King's eyebrows furrow for a moment in confusion as he stares up at the storm clouds rolling by overhead, and then he lifts himself up onto his elbows and looks around.

His eyes meet Merlin's and the warlock is still staring – frozen, not even breathing – and the confusion clears a little from Arthur's eyes and he says, "Merlin?"

It's the most beautiful thing Merlin's ever heard in his life, and with that single word, the spell is broken.

The breath rushes back into Merlin's lungs with a force that leaves him breathless all over again and he gasps a joyful, sobbing laugh and says with a hitching voice, "Arthur," and then the tears that he'd managed to hold at bay til now spill over and he's suddenly right beside Arthur and he's throwing his arms around his King and burying his face in Arthur's neck and he's sobbing with a joy so overwhelming that he doesn't know what to do, and he doesn't even care, because it's been _so_ many years of agonising waiting and loneliness and now finally Arthur's here and Merlin's not alone anymore and Arthur's _here_, and yes, Arthur told him that no man is worth his tears but the idiot was _wrong, _damn it, and Merlin's spent a long time alone and lonely and without Arthur and this man is more than worth Merlin's tears so he's going to _cry_, and woe betide anyone who tries to tell him he shouldn't, because it's been centuries of pain and solitude but now it's all over because Arthur's _here_.

Arthur's here, and he's bewildered. He's _totally_ bewildered, because he doesn't know where here is and how on earth he _got_ here, and – more to the point – even though he and Merlin came a long way over the years regarding showing affection to one another, hugs were still a rare thing between them, and an extended hug _while sobbing into the other's neck_ was something that had _never _happened, not even in the direst of circumstances (and they've had a fair few of those), and Arthur doesn't know what's going on and he doesn't know what to do.

He can't quite work out what happened to have them end up here, in some random field with Merlin sobbing uncontrollably into his shoulder, but it only takes him a second to sift through what he can recall. He remembers Camlann, and the battle, and he remembers fighting Mordred (the traitorous swine). And then he remembers a sharp pain in his side, and everything goes blurry. He can remember Merlin's face – pale and tear streaked and terrified and devastated – and he remembers a small wooden boat and a clear blue lake, and then nothing.

It's only been a couple of seconds since Merlin launched at him and started crying, and the warlock's showing absolutely no signs of stopping in the near future and Arthur figures he should probably do something to comfort him, so he acts purely on instinct and brings his own arms up and around the smaller man to return the embrace, and he's not entirely sure if it works or not because all that happens is that Merlin's sobbing intensifies and he tightens his hold to near-stranglingly tight.

But then, oddly, Arthur becomes aware of a strange ache in his chest, and he's barely finished registering the sensation before he recognises what it is and tightens his hold on Merlin reflexively. He's… he's _missed _Merlin. Oh, by the heavens he's missed Merlin so much he can't even believe it, and he doesn't understand why because the last thing Arthur recalls is Merlin's face hovering over his own right before everything faded out, so it's not like he's been away from the warlock long, but he's missed him so badly that he feels like crying himself and he's completely and utterly baffled by the tears that form in his eyes, but the ache is all encompassing and far too strong to even try to deny, so he wordlessly pulls Merlin even closer (quite a feat, considering how close Merlin's already holding him) and drops his head to rest in the crook between Merlin's neck and shoulder and he just _breathes _and tries to get his emotions under control, and Merlin smells strange – different, somehow – but at the same time so much the same, and he just sits there in the grass in this random field and battles his own tears as he holds Merlin close and his friend cries.

It takes a good while, but finally Merlin's tears slow and stop and Arthur feels the ache recede, and they pull back enough to finally get a proper look at each other.

Arthur's eyes are glinting brightly with tears hovering just outside of gravity's reach and he looks totally and completely bewildered by what's going on, and Merlin has shiny tracks down his face as evidence of his very recent tears, but they look at each other and grins bloom on their faces and they laugh with a breathless joy as they just _look_ at each other and drink in the others' presence.

The laughter drops off after a moment into breathless, hitching breaths and then Merlin closes his eyes tiredly, his grin fading into a content smile. He moves his hand to the back of Arthur's neck and tilts his head forward until his forehead rests against Arthur's and he just breathes, and Arthur's own hand moves to match Merlin's and for a long moment they just sit there, eyes closed and foreheads resting against each other's while they just breathe.

"What happened?" Arthur asks softly after a long while, his voice barely above a whisper, and Merlin blinks his eyes open slowly and swallows, the smile fading completely from his face as he remembers.

"…You died," he whispers after a long moment, and Arthur's never seen an expression of such a heartbreaking, wrenching sadness as he sees in Merlin's eyes right now, and his fingers tighten their hold on the back of Merlin's neck while he waits for the warlock to continue, because clearly there's more to the story.

"You _died_," Merlin repeats, closing his eyes again and breath hitching. "I failed. Mordred... Mordred stabbed you, and I wasn't fast enough to stop it happening, and I – I couldn't heal you..."

His voice trails off in agony and a few more tears leak out from under his closed eyes, and after a moment Arthur shakes him gently and says, "Hey."

Merlin's breath is ragged as he swallows roughly and opens his eyes again, and Arthur's voice and expression are both stern and gentle as he says, "I'm here," because he doesn't know what happened, but obviously _something _did because Arthur's here now, and he feels very not-dead, and apparently that's an improvement on before.

Merlin swallows and nods, eyes flickering closed for a moment before he blinks them open again and continues.

"I took you to the Lake," he says, eyes still leaking and voice still hushed and filled with self-recrimination. "The Lake of Avalon. I couldn't... I couldn't heal you, but I was able to keep you just alive enough to get you to the Lake, and Freya said she could take you through the veil and heal you, but that I had to stay as an anchor to this world. You wouldn't be able to come back until the hour of Albion's greatest need, she said, but I had to do it – it... it was the only thing that might save you. So I put you in the boat and Freya pushed you out into the lake and then... and then you both vanished, and..."

Merlin's voice falters again and he leans forward and presses his forehead into Arthur's chest, the plate and chain mail cold against his skin, and one hand tightens on Arthur's neck and the other fists in the king's cloak as he forces himself to calm down and remember that Arthur is _here, _and those days of agony and grief and loneliness are in the past, and Arthur's _here. _

Arthur's arms come around Merlin automatically as he processes this information, comforting the warlock almost absently as he tries to fit what he's just heard into what little he can remember, and Merlin's hair is soft under his skin as he tangles his fingers in the dark locks and scrunches the blue shirt in his other fist and processes the fact that apparently he was dead.

He was dead. He died, and Merlin was left behind as Arthur was sent to Avalon to be healed. He doesn't know exactly how this whole thing has worked, but he knows that he was gone, and now he's back, and that in the middle there Merlin was apparently left alone. It's all rather a lot to get his head around, but the important part is the part where Merlin was by himself for an undisclosed amount of time, so that's what he'll deal with first.

"How long?" he asks quietly, once Merlin's got his hitching breathing under control again, and Merlin's fingers tighten against the back of his neck again before he answers.

"…A _long_ time," the warlock whispers on an emotion-heavy exhale, body sagging a little in Arthur's hold as the weight of the years press down on him, and suddenly the flood of tears that greeted Arthur make more sense.

"Well," Arthur says decisively, because he has always been one to focus on the present, especially when he can't do anything to change the past. "I'm here now."

And Merlin laughs wetly because that's _such _an Arthur thing to say, and he pulls up and away to hold Arthur warmly at arms-length, sniffs and, damp grin still in place, says, "I'm glad you're back."

Arthur simply grins at him by way of response, many unspoken things clear in the expression, and then finally he looks around properly for the first time.

"So where are we?" he asks, because he doesn't recognise his surroundings at all, and he's so busy looking around that he doesn't see Merlin's face drop.

The warlock's stomach plummets at the question, because although he's had centuries to prepare for this moment and has planned what to say, theorising about how to tell your King that his kingdom doesn't exist anymore is vastly different from _actually_ telling him, and this is the part about this whole reunion that Merlin's been dreading the most, because he knows Arthur is going to be devastated.

But then – surprisingly – the moment is taken out of his hands as Arthur's breath catches in his throat and his face falls slack with shock, and he turns to Merlin, horror in his eyes.

What exactly it was that tipped him off, Arthur doesn't know, but as he'd looked around the strange landscape familiarity had suddenly slammed into him, and he knows exactly they are. It's something deep – something in the pit of his stomach and in the hollows of his bones – and despite the fact that absolutely nothing his eyes can see is in anyway familiar, this whole field just resonates as _home_, and his eyes are horrified as he turns to Merlin to confirm what in his heart he somehow already knows.

"No," he says, a shattered whisper as he silently begs Merlin to tell him he's wrong.

But Merlin's face is filled with a devastated sorrow as he meets Arthur's eyes, and that's enough to confirm it even without the whispered, grief-filled "I'm sorry," that follows, and the King stares in dismay for a moment before he swings his gaze away to look out over the rolling green land again – _his_ land – eyes filling with tears that don't fall yet as he tries to work out how on earth this has happened.

"How…?" he asks, voice strangled, and he doesn't need to finish the question.

"Time," Merlin answers simply; sadly, and Arthur turns his grief-stricken eyes back to Merlin, the question clear in his face.

"It's been over a thousand years since Camlaan, Arthur," the warlock says, and his words slam into the King like a hammer blow. "Nearly fifteen hundred years."

Fifteen hundred years. And yet it feels like just half an hour ago that Arthur closed his eyes to the feel of a boat rocking under his body and the sound of ripples splashing gently against the shore. Half an hour that's lasted over a thousand years. It's almost too much to comprehend.

"Guinevere?" he asks, breathlessly, because he has to _hear _it, even though he already _knows,_ because it's been more than a thousand years and it's one thing for Merlin to be here, alive, but everyone else.._. _"Leon, Gwaine, the others...?"

Merlin's saddened face is all the answer Arthur needs, but the warlock adds words anyway, agonising grief present in every syllable.

"They lived, all of them; for a time. Camelot... Camelot fell not long after Camlaan, but I made sure Gwen and the knights got out. They... they were among the few that did. There were many people still hunting us, but with only six of us there wasn't much we could do to win back Camelot, no matter how much we wanted to. We found a small village a day over the border and settled there. There were refugees everywhere; it wasn't difficult to blend in. Leon was the only one among us who had never lived as a peasant, so – while it wasn't exactly pleasant – it wasn't too hard to pretend we were nothing more than a few villagers fleeing the war. We grieved. For you, for Camelot, for everything we had been forced to abandon. Each of us had days where we wanted nothing more than to storm Camelot's walls, just the six of us, and damn the consequences, but that would have been little more than suicide. We had little choice but to accept everything. Do our best to move on. We looked out for each other. Gwen, Gwaine, everyone... they had good enough lives, for the most part."

...But they died, in the end.

That fact goes unspoken, but it's so loud that Arthur can hear it clanging about in his head like Camelot's huge bells have taken up residence between his ears.

"But they died, in the end," he whispers, finding himself saying the words aloud though they're possibly the last thing he wants to hear, let alone say. Because he needs to _know,_ even though he already does. Needs to know for sure. "You had to watch them die."

The depth of sadness in Merlin's face gives Arthur a brief glimpse into the terrible loneliness the other man has lived with all these years.

"Yes," he whispers, voice little louder than a breath of wind, and Arthur's changed his mind. He thought he wanted to know – wanted to hear the truth and know it as thus without a shadow of a doubt, but now that he knows, he thinks that maybe he would have been happier never asking.

"You know," Merlin continues, making a half-hearted attempt at a grin that is completely ruined by the tears glinting in his eyes, "immortality holds such fascination for so many people. Over the years, hundreds – if not more – have tried to harness it for themselves. Eternal youth, never-ending life, defeaters of death..." he gives a bitter laugh, eyes falling from Arthur's to gaze out over the lands that once held the most beautiful city in the world. "They should have asked me what it was like. I would have told them that they didn't want it."

Silence falls between the two men as Merlin stares out over the rolling hills – thinking about longed-to-be-forgotten memories – and Arthur stares at nothing – processing all that he now knows. Guinevere, and all the children they never had; the decades that they never got to spend together. Leon, Percival, Gwaine, Elyan – his brothers, and all the adventures they never went on, the tales they never got to live and tell. Camelot, ground to dust beneath their feet, worn down by the years until not a speck of her remains but for memories.

The King's eyes fill and spill over, echoes of _No man is worth your tears_ long-forgotten as he thinks of his brothers and his bride and his kingdom and he takes a moment, one-and-a-half thousand years late, to grieve for them.

Guinevere – beautiful Guinevere – with her steadfast support and unwavering gentle wisdom. Leon, Gwaine, Elyan, Percival – his closest, most trusted men; his _brothers. _Camelot, fair and true, beautiful, and a beacon of hope and life.

And Merlin. Yes, he grieves for Merlin. Loyal Merlin, who dedicated his life to a Prince and a Kingdom that would have seen him dead; who stood by Arthur's side through the thickest of thick and the thinnest of thin, never wavering in his devotion and steadfast dedication. Merlin, who was forced to watch as his King and friend was borne away from this world, was forced to watch his remaining friends grow old and die without him. Was forced to wait an unfathomable number of years, alone, one half of a whole, waiting for the day his king would return. Who did so, yet again never wavering in his loyalty, devotion and faith as year upon year passed.

Neither have relinquished their hold on the other since the warlock launched at his king and started weeping (over a thousand years since they've seen each other, Arthur doesn't think Merlin's going to let go of him again, ever, and frankly he himself feels the same), and after a while Arthur gently squeezes Merlin's neck and waits til the warlock brings his too-old-for-his-face eyes up to meet his own.

"Thank you," he says, and the words are quiet and sincere and heartfelt.

Certainly, nothing turned out the way Arthur wanted it to (he and Guinevere were supposed to have children – lots of them – who would grow up to one day take the reins of the Kingdom, and he and Merlin and Gwen and all the knights were supposed to grow old and grey together, and the history books were supposed to fill a whole library detailing all their adventures, and Camelot was supposed to live and prosper and remain the greatest city in the world for centuries), but he knows that, despite all that, Merlin tried.

Merlin tried his hardest for Arthur while the two of them were together – to protect the Prince-come-King and protect Camelot and help both King and City become as great as they possibly could be – and even after Arthur was gone Merlin kept right on trying, and he protected Guinevere and the knights and did his best to ensure that they all had long lives, and Arthur couldn't be more grateful. Because everything may have ended differently to how they wanted, but Merlin tried his hardest and did his best, and Arthur can't ask for any more than that.

Merlin's eyebrows pull down in a confused frown at Arthur's words.

"For what?" he asks, honestly confused, and Arthur's lips curl softly up into a small but genuinely warm smile.

"For everything," he says, the simple statement encompassing so many emotions. "For looking after Gwen and the knights when I couldn't, for doing everything you could to save Camelot. For always being by my side."

The King already has one hand on Merlin's neck, and he reaches the other up to grasp the warlock's shoulder tightly, eyes intense as he silently orders Merlin to believe and absorb these words. Yes, none of it turned out the way they wanted and Arthur wishes it could have been different, but they can't change the past and Merlin deserves more than a thank you for everything he's ever done for Arthur, but a thank you is all Arthur can offer right now.

"For never giving up on me," the King goes on, voice weighed down with too many emotions to count. "For waiting for me. For being here when I came back. For... everything."

Merlin's blinking rapidly, trying to fend off the dampness invading his eyes.

"But I didn't save them," he says, self-recrimination and confusion as to how Arthur can not see that this is all Merlin's fault clear in his voice. "I couldn't save you, I couldn't save Camelot, I couldn't stop Gwen and the others from dying... I couldn't stop any of it."

Arthur smiles again, his cheeks shiny where the now-stopped tears left tracks along his skin and his eyes the tiniest bit red from the salt.

"I know," he says gently. "But you tried."

Merlin looks like he doesn't quite believe yet that that's enough, but Arthur knows he's got time to convince the warlock. He doesn't know what's coming and he doesn't know why he's been brought back now, and he still has more unanswered questions than he can count, but something tells him that they've got time. He's got time to find out the answers to all his questions and he's got time to get used to this strange modern world and he's got time to prepare for whatever it is that destiny and fate throw at them next, and he's got time to convince Merlin that the evident guilt he's been carrying around is entirely misplaced.

"So," he says, because that's really quite enough emotion for one day and he doesn't know if he can handle much more of it. "What do we do now?"

Merlin's lips curl up into a smile at the question because even now, so many years later, Arthur hasn't changed a bit. Merlin follows his lead, helping the king change the subject, because Arthur's never been good at the whole emotional thing and this entire reunion has been pretty damn emotional, and Merlin knows that there's only so much that Arthur can deal with.

"Well, I don't know what the food's like in Avalon, but I know that _I_ haven't eaten anything since breakfast," he says, and Arthur glances up at the sun which is very-much on it's way to setting, and now that he thinks about it, he is rather hungry. Starving, in fact. He feels like he hasn't eaten in centuries. It occurs to him belatedly that he hasn't.

"Food sounds great," he says, and Merlin grins at him and pushes himself to his feet, reaching a hand down to Arthur. The King doesn't hesitate in taking hold of the warlock's forearm to haul himself up, and if they keep their hold on each other for a second or two longer than strictly necessary, well, neither of them are going to comment on it.

"Great," Merlin says, dropping his arm and grinning. "I made a stew yesterday that I can heat up; something told me you'd be hungry when you got here."

Arthur grins back at him, hearing the teasing underlay of Merlin's words but choosing not to comment on it, and simply gestures with one hand.

"Lead the way," he says, and throws an arm around Merlin's shoulders as they start to walk (because it's been fifteen hundred years, and Arthur thinks he can probably get away with a little affection).

The warlock feels his heart swell as Arthur roughly hooks his arm around Merlin's shoulders, and his own arm comes up to mirror the King's, and he hasn't felt this complete and this content in too many years to count, and he knows that everything is going to be alright. He doesn't know what's coming, but he knows that whatever it is, he and Arthur will be able to handle it. Together.

They'll age together now. And die together, when the time finally comes. Merlin – the anchor needed to draw the Once and Future King back home again when the time was right – hasn't aged a second since Arthur drifted out of sight and floated into Avalon, but time will pick up it's game again now and he'll eventually get wrinkles and a sore back and his hair will turn grey and then white and he doesn't even care about any of that, because he knows that Arthur will be right next to him, wrinkling and getting achy and going grey with him.

"I hope you like rat," Merlin says teasingly, even though it's a traditional-style rabbit stew that he's prepared. He'll ease Arthur into modern food slowly, just as he'll ease his king into modern life gently, but all that can start tomorrow. Tomorrow, Merlin will introduce Arthur to jeans and shirts and hoodies, and slowly start to guide him through what he needs to know to be a citizen of modern-day England, as they wait and see what it is that Destiny has planned for them next.

Today, though; today they'll just have a simple meal that Merlin cooked when they were out travelling so many times that he could do it in his sleep, and they'll simply rejoice in the fact that they're together again, and the fact that they'll never be separated again.

Arthur makes a mock-outraged sound of disgust and shoves at Merlin with his free hand. Merlin laughs, free and delighted, and Arthur joins him not a second later, and the too-long grass parts under their feet as they walk together down the hill upon which Camelot once stood, leaving two sets of footprints in the soft earth behind them.

For one thousand, five hundred years Merlin walked the earth alone while Arthur slept in Avalon, but now, as the sun starts to set it sets on the end of an era.

Once has past, and the Future is now.

And Arthur and Merlin will face it, together.

_..._

_end_

_..._

**AN: I would really love to know what you think of this fic. I've never done a future!fic before, and I'd love to know how it turned out. **

**Bundi**


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